


Gunpoint

by agentwashingtin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, trapped in a bank during a robbery au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentwashingtin/pseuds/agentwashingtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons' shift was over it ten minutes. There were only four more customers in his line and then he was free. He'd already had to deal with snooty businessmen, mothers with screaming children, and inexperienced teenagers opening accounts for the first time. His back ached from standing and his feet throbbed every time he shifted his weight. He was ready to go home.</p><p>Of course, the next man in line had to pull a gun out from his jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunpoint

Simmons' manager, a man who went by 'Sarge' and refused to answer to anything else, sat at his desk a few feet away from where Simmons' was standing. Simmons was waiting for Donut to return from getting change in the back and so was passing the time by watching Sarge work.

"Do you need help, sir?" he asked hopefully.

Sarge shook his head. "No thanks, Simmons. I've got it under control."

Simmons sighed and tapped his fingers on the counter and stared at the door Donut had disappeared into. The new intern was useful, but he wasn't very quick; the woman Simmons was helping was boring holes into the back of his head and huffing every so often, clearly impatient. He was hoping to get away from her accusing stare. 

Right as Simmons was about to excuse himself to look for Donut, the intern skipped through the door, brandishing crisp stacks of bills and a few dozen rolls of change.

"Here you go, Simmons!" Donut chirped, handing the money to Simmons.

"Thanks, Donut," Simmons replied with a quick nod, turning back to the woman.

"I'm sorry about the wait, ma'am," Simmons apologized, rummaging under the counter for a bag to put the money in.

The woman didn't respond, only snorted and rolled her eyes. Simmons thought he heard her mutter something foul under her breath, but he didn't mention it.

"Here you go," Simmons said while passing the bag to the woman.

She threw a short word of thanks over her shoulder and hustled out of the door and into the sunny day outside. Simmons gazed wistfully at the door as sunlight poured through. The windows of the bank were opaque and Simmons rarely saw the sun during his shift. He normally wasn't one for being outside, but after hours in the musty bank, he'd give anything to get out of the harsh florescent light of the bank.

Simmons was about to tend to the next customer when the beep signaling someone new entering the bank rang above his head. Simmons looked over the customer's shoulder as a man in a tailored suit and carrying a duffle bag strode through the door.

Immediately the hair on the back of Simmons' neck stood up, but he couldn't figure out why. 

He shook it off and went back to the man standing in front of him. He was so close to getting off his shift, he could care less about an odd looking business man.

Simmons counted out a few bills and handed them to the man he was helping. The man nodded at him and then left the building. By now there were a few people behind the guy in the suit, all with the same bored expression on their faces.

Simmons was about to address the man in the suit when Sarge let out a startled yelp.

"What in Sam Hell?!" Sarge exclaimed, jumping up from his desk.

Donut jumped and Simmons turned around, eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"All the security cameras are out!" Sarge cried.

Simmons' eyebrows drew together. "What do you-"

"EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND!"

Someone screamed as Simmons spun around to face the lobby of the bank. The man in the suit had pulled a mask over his face and was pointing a gun straight at Simmons' chest.

Simmons froze as everyone in the lobby dropped to the ground and scurried to take cover behind benches and potted plants. 

"Nobody move," the man growled, voice muffled behind the mask.

Simmons could hear a child crying somewhere by the door but the rest of the bank was dead silent, allowing Simmons to hear the click of the safety on the man's gun being flicked off.

"Except you," the man ordered, gesturing to Simmons with his gun. "Hand over the money."

With shaking hands, Simmons reached under the counter, groping for the button that would alert the police.

"Hands on the counter!" the man yelled, thrusting the gun at Simmons' face. "Don't think of trying anything."

Simmons squeaked and folded his hands on the wood, shaking slightly. 

"Now, let's get something straight," the man said lowly, cocking his head, "You don't call the police, and I keep my finger off the trigger. Got it?"

Simmons nodded weakly.

The man spun on the room, brandishing his pistol wildly. "That goes for the rest of you, too."

Someone whimpered as they all ducked farther behind their meager cover.

The man grabbed his duffle bag and hopped onto the counter, sliding over it and behind Simmons. Simmons gasped as he felt the cold metal of the gun bite into his back. 

"Grab the money and put it in the bag. I'll be watching for any tricks," the man threatened.

Simmons started to crouch down when he heard Sarge clear his throat and straighten up.

"Now, son, I don't know if you're aware of how it works in my bank," Sarge said slowly, "but no one gets to order around my men but me."

The man barked out a short note of laughter and stepped towards Sarge. "Is that so?"

Quickly, before anyone could react, the man stepped forward and swung his arm, bringing the butt of his gun down on Sarge's temple.

Sarge crumpled to the ground instantly, blood clotting in his wiry hair. 

"Sarge!" both Simmons and Donut cried.

"All right!" the man barked, "You saw what happens when you try to act out. I hope no one else follows his example." The man grinned slyly. "I really don't enjoy hurting people. 

"You're crazy," Simmons gasped.

The man stepped forward and pressed the gun into Simmons' stomach, causing Simmons to back up until the counter cut into his back. 

"I'm telling the truth," the man hissed. "I don't want to hurt anyone, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get my money."

He stepped back but kept the gun against Simmons' stomach. Simmons felt his palms start to sweat and his throat get thick.

"Now, put the money in the fucking bag and I'll leave you be."

"Hey, ease up, asshole. No need to be so harsh."

Simmons craned his head and saw one of the customers crouching behind a desk and glaring at the robber. Simmons vaguely recognized the man's messy hair and orange t-shirt, but he had never spoken with him before.

The robber raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

The robber pulled the gun away from Simmons and fired one shot. The linoleum near the man's knees cracked and threw up a cloud of dust. Someone screamed again as the man scrambled back behind the desk.

"Next time I won't miss," the robber said lazily, glaring at the man.

The man glared back, face pale despite his bravado.

"The money," the robber snapped, turning back towards Simmons.

Simmons crouched down and started grabbing stacks of cash and thrusting them into the bag. He could feel the metal of the pistol pressed up against his neck, still warm from the last shot.

"T-the rest of the money is in the vault," Simmons said, hating himself for stuttering.

"Open it," the man demanded, nudging Simmons with his boot.

Simmons stood and started towards the vault, gun against his back and the man's dress shoes clicking against the tile. He punched in the code to the vault and let it slide open, air hissing as it whooshed in.

Suddenly the harsh trill of sirens pierced the air. 

"Shit," the man hissed. "All right! Everyone get up and into the vault." He looked around and spotted the man he had shot at earlier. "You, help me get the old guy in there."

The customers quickly filed into the vault, eyeing the robber's gun warily as he and the other man hauled Sarge into the vault. Simmons, as calmly as he could, herded the people together, keeping them away from the robber. Donut helped at first, but eventually had to sit down with the others to control his trembling body.

The robber walked back to the vault door and turned, eyes scanning the group. 

"Keep quiet and I'll try to make this fast," he said.

Simmons stood at the front of the cowering huddle of people as the robber gave them a final smile and shut the door. Simmons' heart sank as he heard it lock.

With the man out of sight, Simmons finally let out a stuttering breath. Then his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground, shaking as adrenalin worked through his system.

"Whoa, are you okay?" the man from earlier asked, lurching towards Simmons and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." He laughed shortly and ran a hand through his hair. "I should be asking you, you're the one that almost was shot."

The man smiled. "Ah, yeah. I'm okay." He paused and then said, "Grif."

"Simmons," Simmons replied, holding out his hand.

They shook and then Grif sat back on his heels, staring at the closed vault door. "What a dick."

"No kidding," Simmons said, running a hand through his hair again. "You'd think I'd expect this, working in a bank in a large city, but still-"

"Hey," Grif cut him off. "Anyone would be scared shitless in that kind of situation. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Simmons shrugged and pulled his knees up to his chest. No sound penetrated the vault, but Simmons could imagine the robber negotiating with the police. He wondered how long that would take- how long they'd be stuck in here.

Simmons was startled out of his thoughts by the cry of a small child. He glanced back to the group of hostages and saw a small girl cradled and being quietly soothed by her frightened looking mother. 

Immediately, Grif made his way over to the pair. 

The woman regarded him warily, but Grif smiled reassuringly at her and then looked down at the child. 

He began quietly speaking to the little girl. The girl's sobs quieted and she gazed up at him with wide, tear-stained eyes. Grif said something and the girl giggled. Then, Grif started singing softly. The girl's eyelids drooped and her mouth parted in a small yawn. Soon, the little girl was fast asleep in her mother's arms. The woman thanked him as Grif nodded and scooted back towards Simmons.

Simmons raised an eyebrow. "What was that about?" he murmured.

"I have a sister," Grif explained. "I used to take care of her when we were little. I guess it's instinct now."

Simmons nodded with a small smile. Grif met his eyes and flashed a grin of his own. They kept their eyes locked for a moment before Simmons turned away in embarrassment. Grif snorted and was about to say something when they heard the vault open behind them.

Simmons turned around hopefully, but his heart sank when he saw the robber standing there, gun held aloft. 

The man's eyes scanned the group and then he reached out and grabbed Simmons by the collar, hauling him out of the vault.

"Hey!" Simmons cried, struggling as the man wrapped one arm around his waist and shoved the muzzle of the gun up under Simmons' chin. Simmons froze instantly, and the man dragged him to the front of the bank.

Grif tried to follow, but the man shouted, "Move and I'll put a bullet in his skull!"

Grif's legs locked and he sank back into a crouch, watching Simmons with worried eyes.

The glass in the door was shattered, so Simmons could see the line of police and SWAT cars backlit by the setting sun. About a dozen or so policemen poked their heads over their cars, and Simmons spotted one of them holding a megaphone along with his gun.

Simmons heard shouts as he was pulled into sight. Words like "live hostage" and "gunpoint" were thrown between the cars as the police changed their positions to a more aggressive stance. 

The robber pushed the gun harder into Simmons' skin, and Simmons choked against the hard metal.

"Sir, please put down your gun," the cop with the megaphone shouted. 

"I don't think so," the man called back. Simmons winced at the loud noise in his ear. "Not until I get my money."

"We can talk about this when you're not putting an innocent's life at stake," the policeman said. "Let the man go, put the gun on the floor and then back away slowly."

Simmons felt the robber shake his head. "I told you-"

He was interrupted by someone throwing themselves at the pair. Simmons saw a flash of an orange t-shirt before his shoulder hit the ground painfully and then he was rolling. He skidded across the floor and bumped up against a desk. 

When he stopped moving he looked up and saw Grif struggling to get the man's gun away from him. 

"Grif!" Simmons cried, getting to his knees.

Grif grunted as the man thrust an elbow into his stomach. Grif countered with a kick to the man's side. Their hands grappled for the gun. The robber snapped his elbow into Grif's stomach again and Grif lost his grip for just a second too long. The man fired his gun.

Simmons gasped as he felt a sharp sting in his arm and then the desk behind him splintered off into small pieces of wood, arcing through the air. 

The distraction gave Grif enough time to tackle the man to the floor, knocking his gun away. Simmons watched it skitter out of sight and then the police were barreling through the door and towards the struggling pair.

One policeman grabbed the robber, restraining him as another delivered a blow to the man's chest, stunning him and allowing a third to cuff the man. The robber dropped to his knees and the cops dragged him from the building, shouting instructions to others. A few cops started hustling the hostages out of the vault and to waiting paramedics.

Grif stood in a daze, shook himself, and then ran over to Simmons, dropping to his knees and sliding a few feet towards him. He grabbed Simmons by the shoulders and pulled him closer, eyes scanning his body. "Are you all right?"

Simmons nodded. "Yeah, I- ah!" he hissed in pain as Grif's hands slid down his arms. They both looked down and noticed a slit in Simmons' sleeve leaking blood.

"You're hurt!" Grif gasped.

"N-no shit," Simmons replied, hissing again as he ran his fingers over the wound.

They were interrupted by a pair of cops. 

"Are you two all right?" one asked.

"I'm fine," Grif answered, "but Simmons was shot."

The policeman's eyes widened. "What, where?"

"It's not bad," Simmons said, turning his arm to face the policemen. "It just grazed me."

The policeman nodded, scratching his chin. "Okay, well, let's get you two out to the paramedics. Can you walk all right?"

They nodded. Grif grabbed Simmons' uninjured arm and hauled him to his feet. They followed the cops outside and to the ambulance parked on the street corner. Grif kept his hand on Simmons' arm until they were forced to separate.

About a half hour later, with Simmons bandaged up and Grif nursing a few bruises himself, and after being thoroughly questioned by the police, the paramedics cleared them to go.

"We'd keep you," one of them said, gesturing to Simmons, "but your wound isn't that bad. If you have any problems tonight, feel free to come back in, but you should be good." The paramedic clucked her tongue and then asked, "Is there anyone that you live with that can check on you tonight?"

Simmons was about to answer no when Grif spoke up, "I'll be there."

The paramedic nodded. "Good. You two stay safe now."

She left to tend to some of the other hostages.

Simmons turned to Grif and raised an eyebrow. "That was a little forward, don't you think?"

Grif shrugged. "Hey, you needed someone to look after you. I'm conveniently here."

"I hardly know you," Simmons protested.

Grif shrugged. "I saved your life, didn't I? That's gotta earn me some points."

Simmons scowled, but he couldn't hold it and it eventually turned into an exasperated smile. "It was pretty brave of you, I'll give you that."

Grif grinned and bumped Simmons' shoulder. "You have a car?"

Simmons shook his head. "I take the bus."

"All right, then. I'll drive us back to your place," Grif said, starting to walk off.

Simmons hurried to follow, matching pace with Grif's stride.

"You know, in any other circumstances, I would never do this," Simmons said.

Grif threw him a lazy smile. "So I'm special then?"

Simmons rolled his eyes. "Not in the slightest. Just convenient."

Grif laughed. "I can work with that."


End file.
